


I'd Sell You for a Corn Chip

by taylor_tut



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Gen, Headaches & Migraines, Hurt Peter Parker, Hurt/Comfort, Mind Control, Protective Tony Stark, Tony Stark Has A Heart, dad tony stark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-18
Updated: 2018-04-18
Packaged: 2019-04-24 14:07:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14357058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taylor_tut/pseuds/taylor_tut
Summary: A short birthday request from my tumblr. Tony worries about Peter in the aftermath of battling a mind-controlling villain, even if he'll never admit it.





	I'd Sell You for a Corn Chip

Peter’s head spun and he saw the psychic hit the ground.

“--got him; he’s subdued,” Peter heard Steve’s voice announce into the comms. When had that happened? Had be been hit? And why was Mr. Stark pinning him? “How’s Spiderman doing?”

Tony looked down at Peter’s face and sighed in what looked like relief. 

“Mr. Stark?” Peter asked, feeling like his mouth was filled with cotton. “Wha’appened?”

Tony’s helmet wasn’t on his head, and his jaw was severely bruised, his nose bleeding. “You okay, Pete?” Tony ignored the question. “How’s your head?”

Peter did a quick inventory of himself. “Hurts, fuzzy,” he replied, watching Tony grimace. “Why don’t I remember anything?” he asked, panic seeping into his tone, “and why are you bleeding?”

Tony reached up and touched a cut on his forehead that was leaking blood, staring briefly at the red on his hand before turning back to Peter.

“Capsicle, are you good here? I want to get Spiderman back to the Tower for scans,” he barked into the comms.

“Affirmative, Iron Man,” Steve said warmly--he loved how soft Tony was for the kid. “Take care of him.”

Tony picked up Peter and threw him over one shoulder, flying low and slow the short distance back to Stark Towers.

As soon as they touched down in the building, Peter peeled his mask off. “Mr. Stark, what’s going on?” he demanded. “What happened?”

Tony frowned. “That freak mind-controlled you,” he explained. “You were trying to attack us.”

Hesitation, brief but tense. “I… I did that to you?” he asked, pointing to the bruising on Tony’s jaw and the blood on his face. 

“No,” Tony shut him down, “you didn’t. Psychic freak did. He just used you as a weapon.” 

Peter didn’t care about the nitty-gritty of it. “Are you injured anywhere else?” he asked, even as Tony scrambled around to find scanners and other medical devices he could get his hands on. 

“No,” he said too quickly, walking too evenly for someone who wasn’t hiding a limp. “Now shut up and lie down. I want to look you over and make sure you’re not some kind of dormant zombie.”

“Ha, ha,” Peter deadpanned. “I feel fine. Just a killer headache.” 

Tony helped Peter lie down on a table while Dum-E waved some kind of medical scanner up and down his body, beeping quietly and steadily the whole time. 

As Peter waited for the scan to end, Tony left the room. He could hear him fumbling with things in the other room and cursing--Peter must have hit him harder than he was letting on--and came back into the room with an armful of supplies. 

“Here, drink,” Tony demanded, holding out a water bottle to Peter as he sat up on the table. Tony’s attention was immediately on the screen in front of him, analyzing the results with only a peripheral side-eye on Peter.

“Thanks,” he said, sipping from the bottle while using his other hand to massage his temples. 

“Feelin’ okay, Pete?” Tony asked. 

“Stop asking,” Peter said, “I’m the one that hurt you. By the way, you should really have your jaw scanned. It keeps looking worse. Might be fractured.”

Tony shook his head. “I can get that looked at later. Right now I have other things to deal with. Can you tell me the date today?”

Peter didn’t have to think about it.

“Good,” Tony said, “and where are we?”

“Stark Tower,” he replied, “in your lab. Why are we doing concussion protocol?”

Tony shrugged. “Because I don’t really know what to do. We’re going to do a sobriety test, too.”

“I don’t know how to say the alphabet backwards,” he said, “even on a good day.”

Tony chuckled. “That’s okay,” he replied. “That part is stupid, anyway. Up, on your feet; straight line toward me.” 

Peter jumped down from the table and took a few steps toward Tony too quickly. Things spun for a brief second and he took a tumble. Tony caught him by the shoulders. 

“Good?” he asked, his face pressed into a tight frown, biting down on a wince. 

“Sorry,” Peter apologized again, “just got a little dizzy.”

Tony nodded. “Well, your scans look normal, and your cognitive functions don’t seem impaired, so I think that’s nothing that some food and rest won’t fix. After you get some food, I’ll have Happy drive you back to your Aunt’s place.”

Peter looked confused. “You’re feeding me?” he asked incredulously. 

“Well, if I just send you back all damaged and hungry, May might ask for a refund,” he shrugged. 

Peter’s lip quirked. “It’s because I’m so valuable you can’t afford me, isn’t it?” he asked innocently. 

Tony glared. “I’d sell you for a corn chip,” he said as seriously as he could manage. “Come on. What do you want to eat? It’s your pick but just this once.”

Peter thought on it, knowing that Tony probably had access to any and all of the best restaurants in Manhattan, but still decided on their usual late-night pizza joint. 

“How’s your jaw doing, Mr. Stark?” Peter asked, noticing Tony’s unusually small bites and gingerly chewing. 

“You really pack a punch, that’s for sure,” he said, sounding almost proud. “I wouldn’t want to the guy who pisses you off; believe me.”

Peter flexed his biceps until Tony threw the remote control for the television at his face. 

“Ow!” 

“Build up your reflexes, Mr. Muscles,” he smirked. “Chopped is on, and we’re missing it.” 

Tony didn’t bring up the facial injury again, despite that the bruising was looking darker with every passing hour and Peter would place money on the fact that he’d fractured his jaw. 

“How’s your head feeling?” Tony asked after the pizza was finished and Chopped was over.

“Much better,” Peter said. “How about your face?”

“My face is always awesome,” Tony deflected, “but I’m definitely including a tin-foil hat in the next renovation to your suit.”

Well, that was probably fair. 


End file.
